The EnergySolutions Arena brimmed in anticipation of the night’s big game. Fans mingled outside in the hallways, proudly displaying their yellow, green, and blue on shirts and ball caps. A child whizzed past, the words Go Jazz painted on both sides of her cheeks. The air was abuzz for the big match up, and I had a golden ticket.
Nick approached me with a beer in one hand and popcorn in the other. “Well, traitor, should we find our seats?”
“That’s a bit harsh,” I said.
“Would you rather I announce the location of the conspirator in the midst?”
“It’s just this one night,” I said. “I’m for the Jazz on any other night.”
“Except when they play your precious Lakers.”
I handed our tickets to the usher who muttered, “Follow me,” which we did like a couple of lost sheep in the wilderness.
We descended the stairs until we were one row behind the players. The usher pointed at two empty seats. “These are yours.”
Nick pressed his hands together like he was about to say grace. “Thank you, Marty.”
The stadium thumped to the beat of hip-hop music, and the crowd awaited the start of the game. In the next row, a man flashed me with his enormous Jazz glasses that blinked on and off like a hotel sign declaring a vacancy. Nick appeared relaxed amid all the chaos and nursed his cup of beer.
“Isn’t this great?”
“Best seats in the house,” I said.
The kiss cam hovered overhead, seeking out innocent victims in the crowd until it locked an older man and woman in its sights. The woman clapped her hands with glee and puckered up to the man whose face was as red as a tomato in July. He moved in for a quick one.
“Marty deserves a big kiss for this,” I said.
Nick laughed. “Just make sure it’s on the cheek.”
The Jazz mascot rode around the court on a miniature motorcycle, jumping over various obstacles in his path. I imagined one day he would fly through a ring of fire and attempt a back flip, causing his enormous bear head to slide off and reveal his true identity: the excessively tatted Carey Hart. Motorcycle racer by day, Jazz Bear by night.
“How did it go today with the chief?” Nick said. “I heard your client went to the paper.”
“I had no idea until Chief Sheppard showed me the article.”
“Have you made any progress?”
“I’m still doing the preliminary rounds, and Maddie’s on board now too.”
He grinned. “Maddie must love that.”
“What?”
“A challenge,” he said.
“I’m counting on it.”
Game time. The Lakers hustled onto the court ignoring the not-so-sweet sentiments being yelled out by boisterous Jazz fans. Then it was time for the Jazz who entered to a standing ovation.
“Care to wager?” Nick said.
“Loser cooks dinner.”
“You’re on.”
“Five-course minimum, you sure you can handle it?”
Nick took a considerable amount of time before answering. On one hand, no man in his right mind ever passed up one of my home-cooked meals, of this I was certain. On the other, fine cuisine wasn’t his specialty. He weighed the risk and then nodded.
Game on.
Two players stood at center court bouncing on bended knee until the jump shot, then they went up like a pair of rockets. I watched through squinted eyes as both men launched their hands in the air to gain control of the ball. Two seconds later, the Lakers were in control.
“What’s next?” Nick said.
“My team beats yours.”
“I meant with your case.”
“I spent some time at the scene which turned out to be a huge waste of time, and I also went to Charlotte’s office. Tomorrow I’m going to focus on the boyfriend while we wait for Maddie’s autopsy results to come back.”
“What if the autopsy proves Charlotte’s death was an accident?”
“Then there won’t be anything left for me to do. I’ll drop it.”
The Lakers dribbled and then swoosh, a perfect three-pointer. For a moment I forgot my place in the enemy’s camp and shouted out a supportive “YES!” which elicited dirty looks from the spectators around me. A crotchety, silver-haired man a few seats over gave me the stank eye and shook his head in disgust. My secret affinity for the Lakers was out.
“Good job,” Nick said.
“I try my best.”
And I wasn’t the only one. By the end of the fourth quarter, victory was mine.